


Summer of Love

by drearymondays



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drearymondays/pseuds/drearymondays
Summary: San Francisco, Spring 1967. The Summer of Love is around the corner, the city is full of music, sex and drugs. Paul watches from across the water at Berkeley, happy to be on the outside looking in. That is until a twist of fate brings him face to face with John, a young musician here to experience everything the city has to offer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I should probably add notes to the beginning of this! Obviously this is my entry to the mclennon bb, hopefully you enjoy it! I really love the whole hippy counterculture that grew out of San Francisco in the 60s, and I thought it would be fun to dump John and Paul right in the middle of it. Most of bands/newspapers/clubs etc referenced in the fic were actually around at the time that this is set - which reminds me, this is set in 1967, just before the Summer of Love, but that means that John and Paul are probably a little younger than they would have been in reality. They were only 25 and 27 in '67 anyway but I'd say they're both 4/5 years younger here.
> 
> If you fancy listening to some music to get you in the mood, I suggest [Janis Joplin singing Ball and Chain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bld_-7gzJ-o) live at the [ Monterey Pop Festival](http://p2.la-img.com/906/25689/9524499_1_l.jpg) \- this was held in California 2 months after the fic is set and Big Brother and the Holding Company were a big part of the San Francisco scene - plus Janis is my girl, I love her. 
> 
> Come and talk to me on tumblr if you feel like it - drearymondays.tumblr.com

Paul gazed at the leaflet he’d picked up on the way into his lecture, letting his eyes trace the large black lettering printed across the pink paper. ‘WRITERS NEEDED – help report on the literature, music and politics of San Francisco – turn off, tune out and _drop in_ if you want to join our team’. The address of the office was printed underneath, a little street in Berkeley not far from campus. Paul had seen the newspaper being sold around the university before – it was difficult to miss, with its hand drawn cartoons scrawled across the front page. Liberal was one way of describing it. _Part of the radical left,_ as the other local papers liked to label it. Whatever it was, this writers position was an interesting prospect.

The Barb told the story of a world Paul really didn’t know much about. Yes he’d heard about it - music, free love, drugs protests - but he’d never really been part of it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to be. He felt comfortable watching from over the bay, close enough to see the effects of but just far enough away not to feel them.

At the same time though, Paul was fascinated by it. Haight Ashbury was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The community that had gathered there truly seemed to believe in the importance of love and acceptance, not just of each other but of yourself. He could feel the sentiment drifting over the water to Berkeley, but he knew it was a watered-down version of what was happening in the city. A few protests and some columns in the local papers were nothing compared to the rush at Haight – rumours of thousands of people making their way across the country – across the world even – just to experience it. They offered an alternative to the path the older generation had set out for them – school then work. Collect a wife and kids on the way. _You’re lucky to have the opportunity to go to university Paul. We never could have dreamt of something like that._ At the time his acceptance into Berkeley felt like a chance to escape, to live his life the way he wanted to. Now he could see an even bigger chance just across the water.

Paul’s stomach knotted as his mind lingered on this thought. He knew he’d never be able to just turn up in Haight, he wouldn’t know where to start. He’d dismissed the idea of becoming involved in that world months ago. But the Barb presented an interesting opportunity. He could go there, find out more, but still have his lifeline to the outside. He would be Paul the writer – it wouldn’t just be a ticket into that world, but a rope to pull himself out again.

The lecturer snapped his book shut and placed it on his desk, waking Paul from his daydream. He folded the flyer and shoved it into his pocket. He could make a decision on it later.

                                                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fresh April breeze offered a welcome change to the stuffy lecture theatre. Closing his eyes for a moment, Paul lifted his face towards the weak spring sunshine that was beginning to break through the clouds, letting a slow smile spread across his lips. It had been a long winter. The weather here reminded him of Liverpool – grey, cold, rain. In a way it was comforting, a little piece of home that had followed him all this way. Now, though, he was ready for a change. His reverie was interrupted by a crowd of students gathering nearby, surrounding a young man who stood taller than the rest. Nearing the crowd, Paul could see that the boy had thrown a fat textbook onto the grass, jumping up onto it to make himself better heard. He held up a copy of a brightly coloured newspaper, a jumble of yellows, pinks and greens bleeding into each other over a printed geometric pattern.

“I’ve got the latest one – get a load of this!” he shouted, brandishing the newspaper in both hands like a trophy. Paul walked close enough to read the large writing at the top of the page – _The_ _Haight Ashbury Tribune – Vol. 1, No. 4_ was written in large writing, the colourless lettering standing out against the vivid background.

“You’ve got to hand it to them, the art in here is something else” the speaker mused as he flipped through the newspaper “but just listen to the madness going on in Haight!”

Folding the newspaper back on itself, he turned it sideways to better read the awkwardly placed announcement. From what Paul could see of the Tribune, they had little interest in conventional newspaper layouts.

_“Many of our brothers and sisters arrive in the Haight Ashbury, believing all the beautiful things that are said of our village._ Not sure beautiful is the right word!” The man looked expectantly at his audience, waiting for a laugh that didn’t come. A half-joking “get on with it!” came from the small crowd that had assembled around him.

  _“They come without bread. Until they learn our vortex ways…”_ At this the speaker raised an eyebrow at his audience, this time receiving a few amused grins in return. He looked back down at the newspaper and continued reading.

_“where shall they stay?_ _If you can offer a crash pad for one, two, three – if you can say here’s a corner, rest a night… the need is great!_ _Please call us at 863-9718 between 4-8pm or visit us at 1350 Waller. Thank You – with love, the community affairs office._ The community affairs office? Who’d have thought hippies could be so organised?” At this he jumped off his makeshift soapbox and into the bosom of the laughing crowd, which quickly began to disperse as the ringleader and his friends made their way across the grass and away from Paul.

The words from the newspaper echoed around Paul’s head. _Many of our brothers and sisters arrive… where shall they stay?... the need is great…_ was that really what it was like, people just turning up and being taken in? Paul couldn’t imagine opening his home up to a stranger like that, just trusting them and taking them into his life when they’d barely even met. It had taken him long enough just to let his friends from Berkeley into the small flat he was renting – something had made him want to keep it to himself for as long as possible. A little piece of privacy unlike anything he’d ever had before – no dad, no brother, not even any friends – just him. It was like a shelter from the storm, a safe harbour where he could be himself. Of course, there are only so many excuses you can use before you can’t postpone it any longer, and Paul had welcomed friends over his doorstep for long nights of drinking and putting the world to rights. Still, though, he liked to try and keep visitors to his little home as few and far between as possible.

Digging his hands into his pockets, he felt the folded leaflet crumple under the weight of his fingers. This really was his chance, it had to be. Taking it out to glance at the address, Paul set off in the direction of the Berkeley Barb newspaper office.

                                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hidden behind a heavy wooden door leading in off the street, a small staircase brought Paul face to face with the Barb’s headquarters. _Berkeley Barb Newspaper Office. Chief Editor: M. Scherr_ was printed on a metal placard slid into a holder on the door. Lifting his hand to knock, he noticed that the door was ajar, a shaft of sunlight peeking through the crack and illuminating the gloomy stairwell. Uncurling his fist, Paul laid his hand flat against the wood and gently pushed the door wider, revealing a makeshift newsroom made up of tatty-looking desks pressed against each other. He went unnoticed by the young-looking staff who were busying themselves with typewriters and handwritten notes. At a large table near the door a girl sat drawing what Paul assumed were mock ups for the front cover of the next issue. He cleared his throat and wrapped his knuckles against the open door, causing the girl to look up from her work.

“Mornin’” he nodded in her direction, smiling as she stood up to greet him. “Anyone I can talk to around here?”

“Hey!” she enthused as she walked over to the door “I’m Debbie, I do the artwork here.” Glancing at the leaflet Paul was still holding in his hand, she looked back up at him and smiled. “You here for the writer’s position then? It’s not paid you know – none of us are! Good fun though. What’s your interest? Politics? Literature?”

“You’re an observant one! Music’s what I’m really interested in. I study it over at Berkeley you see. I was hoping there’d be space for me to write a bit about what’s coming out of the city.”

“I think there probably is you know, we’ve only got one other music reporter and he’s been busy with college recently”. Debbie turned away from Paul and walked towards the far corner of the room, glancing over her shoulder to indicate that Paul should follow her. “You know that scene, it’s growing every day. You can never write too much about it in my opinion.” She stopped in front of a thin wooden door, throwing Paul a smile before knocking three times. “Max? Someone’s come to answer your ad. He’s pretty well connected in the music world you know”. Debbie winked at Paul as she walked back to her drawing, leaving him waiting outside the door alone.

“Well bring him in then!” Shouted a muffled voice from inside. Paul took a deep breath before letting himself into the room. The door opened onto a tiny office – Paul guessed it was meant to be a large cleaning cupboard judging from the size and lack of windows. An oversized desk took up most of the room while a dim light hung from the ceiling, throwing abstract shadows around the cramped space. The musty smell of ink and paper lingered in the still air while a bright desk lamp lit a stack of typed papers annotated in black pen. A well-used typewrite threatened to crash to the floor after having been pushed aside to make room. Looking over the desk, Paul’s eyes fell on the broad figure penned in against the wall.

“Hullo sir, I’m Paul, I’m here about the advert”.

Getting up from his chair, the man leaned forward awkwardly, placing one hand on his desk for support and offering the other to Paul. “No need for that sir nonsense, I’m Max. Max Scherr. I’m the editor. Also founder, writer, and occasional cleaner. And you know what Paul? You’ve got the job!” he laughed, jabbing his finger in Pauls direction to emphasise his point. “Seriously though, we’ve only been going for just over a year but we’ve got a pretty good following so far. If you’re interested in writing something – did Deb say music? – we’ll be happy to have you on board. The more the merrier”.

“Really? That’s great! I’ve got a few ideas already, what do you think about-”

“You’re writing about the local music scene Paul, you can’t go far wrong.” Max lowered himself back into his chair, picking up the stack of papers in front of him and tapping it on the desk. “As long as you dig it, I’m sure the readers will too. Reviews, interviews, whatever, just try to keep it to around 500 words. At first at least. If you’re good I’ll give you more space. Now I’m sorry to rush you Paul, but we’ve got a deadline here! Bring me an article by the middle of next week and I’ll see if there’s space for it in the next edition”.

With that Max took his pen up again and cast his eyes back over the printed pages. Paul took this as his cue to leave, offering a brief goodbye that was distractedly returned. As he closed the door and began his walk across the newsroom, Debbie ran over to him, placing one hand on his shoulder and falling into step beside him.

“So…?”

“You were right, he gave me some space in the next edition. Or at least I think he did, as long as I don’t write complete nonsense.”

“That’s pretty much the only requirement around here.” They both laughed as Debbie pulled on his shoulder, turning him to face the others.

“Paul’s on the team everyone!” A half-hearted cheer echoed around the room, briefly drowning out the clack of typewriters that was a constant in the small office.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re just busy. You can come up here to use the typewriters whenever you want, or you can just give your handwritten paper to Max. He’s the one that puts it all together anyway so it doesn’t really matter.”

As they reached the door Paul turned and flashed a smile at Debbie before thanking her for her help. “you’ve been great!”

“Ah, I didn’t do anything really”

“You did! I’ll see you next week anyway.” With that Paul gave her a quick wink before walking down the stairs and out into the cool spring air. “See you!” he heard her call after him. Paul grinned to himself as he took out a cigarette. He’d always been good with girls, ever since he was young. He was charming and he knew it. Still, probably a good idea not to mess around with Debbie if he wanted this newspaper thing to go somewhere. She was more useful as a friend than anything else.

With that Paul began his walk back to his flat across campus, letting his mind drift over ideas for articles. 500 words wasn’t much. He had thought about comparing the San Francisco scene to the LA one – a sort of money vs soul piece to feed into the sell-out image San Franciscans had of LA – not that he was sure he even believed that. Plus it had been done, and it would take up too much space anyway. Maybe a series was a better idea? He could find some new acts trying to break onto the scene and write about them – it could be a different one every issue. A quick description of their style and a short interview would do it – plus they’d probably be more than willing to talk to him. All he needed now was to head over to Haight Ashbury and find someone to talk to.

                                                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paul climbed up the steep slope leading away from the bay, shading his eyes from the early evening sunshine. A flyer pinned to a noticeboard in the university had pointed him in the direction of an open mic night – _new and unsigned acts at The Matrix - come and see the Haight’s next big thing!_ Paul figured he’d be able to get at least one story there, maybe even a few useful contacts to take back to Max. The hum of the Friday night traffic faded as Paul got further into the neighbourhood, the hustle and bustle of workers heading home for the weekend slowly being replaced by the low pulse of music spilling out of opened doors and down stone steps. The roads were quiet in this part of the city, and Paul looked on in interest as his walk took him past young crowds sitting outside tall brick buildings, taking in the last of the sun as they smoked and laughed together. The pungent smell of weed seemed to linger around the district, clinging to passers-by and wafting out of open windows.

Stopping to take in his surroundings, Paul stood for a moment and scanned the area, looking for the venue. Squinting in the evening sun, he reached into his pocket to pull out the address he had scribbled down. _3138 Fillmore Street._ He was pretty sure it was nearby. Lifting his eyes to search for a street sign, he vaguely registered a pounding sound echoing behind him, growing louder and louder until it pushed all other thoughts out of his mind. Just as he turned to see what the commotion was, a hard knock to his shoulder sent him off balance, losing his grasp on the piece of paper which floated away from him onto the ground.

“Sorry mate! I’m just a bit late. As always.” The man laughed as he bent down to pick up Paul’s piece of paper, grinning as he turned to hand it to him. “Fillmore Street – yer off to the open mic night too then, are ye?” Paul opened his mouth to speak, but his thoughts were too jumbled to string a sentence together. That accent hit Paul like a punch to the gut, filling his mind with thoughts of home – his family, his friends, the city itself came alive in front of him – the grey river, the blackened buildings, the friendly faces that saw him as one of their own - he didn’t realise how much he’d missed it until he heard that voice now, out of nowhere, half way across the world.

An amused grin spread across the man’s face as Paul shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. “Well it’s been a lovely chat, but I really must be getting off.” This time he spoke in an affected BBC accent, bowing sarcastically before skipping across the road, grabbing hold of his guitar case on his back to stop it from shaking as he ran.

“Hang on!” Paul shouted after him, but he was already out of earshot, sharing a laugh with an older man who was leaning against a large metal door at the side of the building. Paul watched him being ushered inside before quickly crossing the road and running towards the door, squinting in an attempt to see into the dim corridor. He could just about make out the figure slipping his guitar case off his back and resting it against the wall. Taking a deep breath, Paul approached the doorway, finding himself mentally preparing his words. ‘ _Hey, are you from-’_ at that moment Paul found himself stopped in his tracks by a strong hand landing firmly on his chest.

“Hold on a minute, I haven’t seen you around here before. You a new act?”

“No no, I’m just here to watch.” Paul smiled up at the heavy-set man politely, attempting to push past his restraining hand and take a step forwards into the club.

“Then you’ve got to use the _front door._ This is for acts only. Unless you’re going to sing us a song, you need to head round the corner and join the line”. He lifted his hand to his right, vaguely gesturing towards the corner where Paul could see a group of people waiting to enter through an unseen door.

“I just needed to talk to someone, he’s only in there-” Paul returned his gaze to where the man had been standing, only to see that the corridor was now empty. A pang of frustration twisted in Paul’s stomach.

“Mr. No One, is it?” Paul turned to be greeted by a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “I can’t just let anyone backstage. I’m sure you’ll find your friend after the show.” With that the man placed a hand on Paul’s back and gently pushed him towards the corner.

                                                                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The club itself was dark and cramped, a small stage offering a focal point in the dimly lit room. The steady stream of revellers that were making their way inside had gravitated towards the bar, the slight evening chill that clung to their jackets leaving them at the door as the musky scent of smoked cigarettes and spilled drinks took hold. Paul looked around for a spot to settle for the night – a table by the wall about half way down the room offered a good vantage point. It would be too dark to write anything – plus Paul didn’t want to look too out of place – but he would be able to scribble a few names down from there without too much trouble. Moving across the room to the table, he noted that it came up to his chest, the stools that came with it either missing or removed for the performance. Leaning forwards on his elbows, Paul absentmindedly took in his surroundings as he waited for the acts to start. His thoughts drifted back to the scene outside, replaying the incident with more clarity now that the shock had worn off.

The man was from Liverpool. That much Paul was sure of. The voice ran on a loop in his head - _yer off to the open mic night too then, are ye?_ – there was no mistaking it. The rest was a bit of a blur – mischievous eyes and a Cheshire cat grin drifted around Paul’s mind as he stared unseeingly at the stage. He wondered if the man would make an appearance, and found himself hoping that the answer was yes.

After a short while the first act walked out and began setting up their equipment, the high-pitched screech of the mic signalling to those still at the bar that the show was about to begin. The band announced themselves as _The Ace of Cups,_ an all-female group new to the San Francisco scene. Paul jotted their name down, noting the make-up of the group next to it. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a band without a man in it before – it could make a good story for the Barb.

Paul was at his table long enough to watch the first few acts before he felt the bar calling him over. The club was stuffy and crowded, the smell of weed and alcohol lingering in the air, and with the crowd so close to the small stage, the energy in the room was intense. Paul could really do with a drink or two. Hearing the latest band announce their final song, he quickly began to push his way to the back of the room in an attempt to beat the inevitable rush on the bar that came with every break in the music. Moving slowly through the raucous crowd he was reminded of the clubs in Liverpool, how he would walk down the stairs and watch from the back as masses of girls fought their way towards the stage, attempting to catch the eye of the latest band to scrawl their name on the wall. It seemed some things were the same the world over.

Paul felt the pulse of the bass die away as he placed his hands on the bar and lent over to shout his order into the bartender’s ear. A beer bottle was quickly opened and poured clumsily into a battered glass, the head spilling over the sides to add to the sticky gloss Paul could feel under his fingers. Handing over the money for his drink, a familiar sounding voice brought his attention back to the stage at the other end of the room.

“Alright? Evening. I’m John – err, John _Lennon,_ and I’m going to sing a few songs, if you’ll have a listen. On me own tonight I’m afraid, but you don’t mind do you girls?”

Paul turned around in time to see the man winking at the girls on the front row, a guitar slung over his shoulder and gripped firmly in both hands. His face suddenly became serious, his eyebrows narrowing as he added “the rhythm’s in the guitar anyway”, nodding once as if in agreement with himself. Clearing his throat, he launched into an energetically into a song Paul had never heard before, his charismatic performance belying the fact that he was alone on stage.

Paul found himself captivated by the man. Leaning back against the bar, he took in the performance. The guitar playing was rough, almost aggressive, the sound taking hold of the scene and bouncing off every surface in the small club. The voice was like nothing Paul had heard before – it had an edge to it, but at the same time there was a sweetness there, it took you in and forced you to listen. He felt as if this man – _John –_ was laying himself out on the stage. Paul recognised something in him, a passion that came only from a love of music. A passion that Paul shared.

Feeling the need to get closer to the stage, Paul picked up his glass and made his way into the crowd. The space was cramped and it quickly became clear that taking a drink into the huddle was not the best idea Paul had ever had. As John’s song came to an end, the crowd pushed back in one flowing movement, causing the girl in front of Paul to step into him and send the beer spilling out between them. A shriek went up as they jumped apart, drawing the crowd’s attention to the unfortunate scene.

On stage, John narrowed his eyes in an attempt to see past the bright lights into the audience. “Having fun back there? Ey it’s you!” John laughed, his face relaxing. “Should’ve guessed. Try to keep it down will ye?” Paul looked up from his sodden shirt to see John looking directly at him, an amused grin on his face.

“Sorry, mate” Paul shouted up at the stage, causing John’s eyebrows to raise in surprise. He lifted his head as if in recognition, his eyes lingering a second longer on Paul’s, before turning back towards the microphone and launching into the next song, the disturbance quickly forgotten by the enthusiastic onlookers.

Paul’s wet shirt was slow to dry in the damp heat of the club, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room while John was still on stage. Something about the man kept Paul glued to his spot in the crowd. Finishing his last song, John thanked the audience and disappeared backstage before returning a minute later without his guitar. Stepping down off the small stage, Paul watched John push his way through the tangle of people and take a seat at the bar, motioning to the bartender who smiled and walked straight to him. By the time Paul reached him, John had thrown down a tumbler of scotch and had begun nursing a large beer.

“You can handle your drink then?”

“Better than you apparently” John quipped, nodding at the wet patch on Paul’s stomach. They shared a laugh as Paul took the next stool over.

“You’re from Liverpool.”

“Yeah. Heard of it?” Paul could hear the laughter in John’s words. The two of them locked eyes, challenging each other not break out of this play they had fallen into. Paul watched as John lifted his glass to hide a smile. 

“Oh you know, once or twice.”

“There’s some pretty interesting people there, you should give it a visit someday.”

“Nah, I hear all the best ones leave first chance they get.”

John placed his beer back on the bar and turned to face Paul, leaning closer as if wanting to get a better look at something. At the front of the club the next band began their set, eliciting a cursory glance at the stage from John before he returned his eyes to Paul.

“You know…” Paul continued, speaking louder in an attempt to compete with the music. “I’m actually here as a music journalist for the Berkeley Barb.”

 “A _journalist_? Let me guess, you’re one of the students that writes for them for free?” John’s eyes sparkled, his impish grin forcing a smile onto Paul’s face.

 “Doesn’t mean I’m not a journalist, does it?” Paul laughed, pushing John playfully on the shoulder. “Well anyway, I was thinking maybe I could interview you? You might make an interesting story.”

“I’m front page news, am I?”

“More like filling space somewhere near the back.” Paul laughed.

A short silence took hold as John held Paul’s gaze, leaning in further as if searching his eyes for something. The gap between them had closed to a few inches, close enough that Paul could almost feel John’s breath on his face. With a sigh John leaned back again, taking his eyes off Paul and focussing them on the tattered beer mat he’d started to toy with.

“Sure. Why not, you know?” he said with a shrug.

Paul nodded carefully, unsure how to read John’s reaction. “Right. That’s great.” Paul said plainly. He watched John for a moment, his eyes still cast down towards the bar. Something about this scene felt significant, like there was an opportunity here that he needed to take. Something bigger than the newspaper or the music. He just didn’t know what. “How about now? It won’t take long. We could go backstage or something, if it’s easier there.”

John picked up his drink and downed it, slamming the empty glass back onto the bar before looking up to find Paul watching him with raised eyebrows. He seemed preoccupied, the warmth in his eyes faded. He stood up from his stool and turned to walk towards the door.

“Come on then.”

Paul found himself following John through the crowd towards the backstage area, all plans of watching the other acts abandoned. He saw John stop in front of a broad man blocking a side door before turning to wait for Paul.

“We’re just going backstage for a minute” John explained as Paul stopped behind him. The man looked Paul up and down before looking back at John, evaluating the situation.

“Okay, sure” he replied, stepping out of the doorway to allow them to pass. John led Paul down a narrow corridor at the side of the club, the sound of music muffled by the thick walls separating them from the main room. They stopped in front of a door bearing a handwritten _backstage area_ sign, the chatter of the people inside leaking out into the hall. Stepping inside, they were greeted by an eclectic collection of threadbare chairs and sofas unceremoniously gathered around tables of varying heights. A fog of smoke hung over the room, and Paul recognising some of the smokers from the bands he had watched play earlier.

John gave a general “alright?” as he walked inside, lazily raising his hand to the room and receiving a chorus of greetings in return. They headed towards the far corner where John’s guitar lay resting against a worn armchair. Reaching out, he took the guitar by its neck and leant it against the wall before gesturing for Paul to sit down opposite him.

“well, we’re here. How do you want to do this? Are you going to record it or something?”

A blush spread across Paul’s cheeks at the realisation of how unprepared he was. He hadn’t thought he’d hold an interview as formal as this, even if it was just in the back room of a club. He didn’t even have any questions prepared, never mind a tape recorder.

“No, I’m going to take notes.” He rummaged inside his pockets and pulled out some folded pieces of lined paper and a pen, laying them on the small table between them and smoothing out the creases to make it easier to write.

 “Professional, that. It’s a wonder you haven’t been snapped up by the Times.”

Paul looked up to see a grin returning to John’s face, the guard he put up at the bar apparently dropped again. Paul felt relief wash over him as the tension between them disappeared.

“Right, might as well get started then.” Paul felt John watching him as he leaned forwards, writing John’s name in neat cursive at the top of the page. The blank paper stared back at him dauntingly, but the amused smile playing on John’s lips eased his nerves. Paul let his mind run free, a jumble of thoughts throwing up half formed questions about music, travel and life in general. There was so much Paul wanted to know about the man sat in front of him. Most of it, though, was not the sort of thing he would be expected to write an article about. He attempted to take control of his thoughts again, focussing back on what he had seen of John on stage.

“You said you’re on your own tonight, does that mean you usually play with a band?”

A mischievous grin spread across John’s face, giving Paul his answer before he’d even spoken.

“No. I like to pretend I do though, makes me seem more professional, don’t you think?”

Paul rolled his eyes and laughed. At least the article was going to be interesting. He found himself leaning forwards in his seat, the gap between the two men closing as John mirrored his actions.

“I don’t think professional is really what they’re going for around here, to be honest” Paul said in a mock-advisory tone.

“You’d be surprised.” John took a crumpled cigarette packet out of his pocket, lifting it to his mouth and placing a cigarette between his lips. He threw the packet onto the table and patted his pockets down before looking back at Paul.

 “Got a light?”

“If you’ve got a ciggie”

John grinned and opened his packet again, taking out a cigarette and handing it over. Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter, leaning over the small table to close the distance between him and John. With his cigarette held loosely between his lips, he sheltered the flame with his right hand, letting it flicker between the two of them before looking up to meet John’s eyes. John’s gaze felt heavy on him, the stuffy room suddenly feeling hotter than it had a moment ago. Paul felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, becoming increasingly aware of how close their faces were, his eyes feeling lost inside John’s. After a few seconds the light took hold and smoke billowed up between them, obscuring their view of each other as it came to rest in a cloud above their heads.

 “Ta.”

A lingering look was shared between them, their bodies angled towards each other in their quiet corner. Stretching one arm behind his head, John leaned back in his armchair, his eyes still watching Paul. Paul inhaled deeply and sat up, looking back down at his paper.

“Right…” Attempting to organise his thoughts into something coherent, Paul ran his hand over the paper again, taking a moment to figure out what his next words were going to be.

"Well, John, you're a long way from home, you know?"

"I could say the same thing about you"

“Yes…” Paul nodded slowly. He could hear the challenge in John’s voice, he wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “but I’m a student, aren’t I? I’m here for a reason”

"And you think I'm not? And what is that reason anyway Paul?"

“To study, obviously. I’m at Berkeley.”

"That's not the reason though, is it? Why _here?_ You could study anywhere and yet you've ended up in San Francisco. Are you looking for something Paul?” John raised his eyebrows, leaning forwards slightly. “ _Running from something?_ "

“Are you?” Paul’s reply seemed to catch John off guard. He scoffed, lifting his head to the ceiling and rubbing his palms over his closed eyes. Paul pressed his lips together in a smug smile, unable to hide his pleasure at having left John speechless, if only for a moment.

“You’re not as straightforward as you seem, are you?”

“I have no idea what you mean” Paul said innocently, his cigarette glowing in the dim light as he inhaled deeply, blowing smoke in John’s direction. The background chatter from the other groups sat around the room seemed so distant to Paul. In that moment in was just him and John, watching each other as if in quiet contemplation. Paul noticed that they had become mirror images, both inclined towards each other, Paul’s cigarette in his left hand, John’s in his right. Paul lowered his arm, brushing ash off his trousers and clearing his throat.

“Anyway…” At that moment the door was thrown open, a loud voice filling the small room.

“Okay everyone, that’s it. All bands have been on, backstage is closing now. Feel free to hang around the front, bar’s open for a while yet. Oh and don’t leave anything here because you won’t get it back.”

Paul noticed John sigh, sinking into the cushioned back of his armchair before jumping up and grabbing his guitar.

“’spose we’d better be off then.”

“Yeah, ‘spose so.” Paul looked up from his chair, struggling to hide the disappointment in his voice. John was busying himself with his guitar case, checking it was properly sealed before throwing it across his back.

“So, have you got enough then?” John nodded at the note still lying in front of Paul, who followed his gaze towards the blank paper, John’s name alone at the top of the page.

“Yeah, really in depth interview, that was. Just look at how much I have to go on now.” Paul picked up the sheets, gesturing with them as he stuffed them into his front pocket. They shared a laugh before John’s face sobered, his tone suddenly more serious.

“Well should we finish it off in the bar? Or do you want to meet up again?” before playfully adding “you never know with these things, this could be my big break.”

“It’s alright, I’ll just write it like a review or something, it’s only short. I don’t need notes, it’s all in here you see” he joked, tapping his finger against his head.

“Oh, right. I guess that’s everything then.” John’s tone was deflated. The two men stood in front of each other, the sound of the room emptying puncturing the silence between them. Paul silently cursed himself for saying that, for ending it like that. There was so much he had wanted to say to John but now neither of them had the words.

“Yeah, well actually I was wondering if you knew of any other nights like this? Or, you know, somewhere where I could meet some more local bands? Just for the paper, you see…”

“Just for the paper...”

“Yeah… and maybe, you know, I might see you at one”

“Well…” a wry smile spread across John’s face. He glanced around the room, and, seeing that they were alone, lunged forwards and grabbed the folded paper out of Paul’s jeans pocket, making Paul jump backwards in surprise.

“What the hell-”

“Give us your pen.” John stood with his palm outstretched in front of him, the paper gripped in his other hand. Paul shook his head in amused confusion and held up the pen, which John immediately snatched, bending over the table and scribbling an address down.

“If you go here on Sunday, around 4, then maybe you might just see a few bands. And you never know, maybe I might be there too.” Wearing a full grin, John gave Paul a quick wink before turning towards the door. “Best be going now, don’t you think?” Paul grabbed the paper John had left on the table and followed him out of the room, arriving in the corridor in time to see him disappear out of the back door he’d entered through a few hours earlier.

“See you on Sunday then!”

“I think he’s gone buddy.” Paul turned to see two men leaning against the wall, obviously amused by the scene.

“Oh yeah, thanks for that” Paul replied sarcastically. He walked the short distance to the door, stepping into the cold night air. The sun had set a few hours ago and now the only light came from underpowered street lamps and buzzing neon signs highlighting the entrances to bars and strip clubs. John was out of sight, lost in the darkness. Taking the note out of his pocket, Paul looked at what John had written. It was in Haight Ashbury, but that was all Paul knew. _Well, this could be interesting_ he thought to himself as he walked into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fic! I hoped you enjoyed it. If you fancy having a chat come and find me over on tumblr - drearymondays.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

Paul had got next to nothing from the interview with John. The questions that he’d managed to ask hadn’t really returned anything of interest, and even if they hadn’t been interrupted, it didn’t seem like John was going to be very useful anyway. He’d have to just go on what he knew, which really wasn’t that much. His thoughts drifted back to last night, memories of John’s voice, his guitar playing, his stage presence, and then backstage, their jokes, the moment they’d shared in that stuffy back room surrounded by musicians with dreams of making it big.

Paul’s gazed down at his desk, his back turned to the small room he called home. A single bed sat under the window, a battered sofa and some chairs offering a makeshift seating area for any guests that did make it through his door. A well-used record player offered a focal point, the set up reminiscent of long evenings spent alone and with friends listening to the records Paul had managed to collect and stash in a rack sitting alongside it. Next to it stood his worn guitar, the only piece of Liverpool he’d brought with him. A pair of doors off to the side of the room led into a tiny kitchen and a cramped bathroom, impractical and cramped but they were all he needed.

Paul mused over what he was going to write. _John is from Liverpool. He plays guitar. He sings songs on stage. He gave me a cigarette. He looked at me that way. He won’t get out of my mind._ Maybe not. He pushed his chair backwards and got to his feet, walking into the middle of the room. Playing guitar always helped to clear his mind. He let his hands run over the strings, his fingers playing out a tune that he’d never heard before. Even this was reminding him of John – his hands fingering the fret board, striking the strings much harder than Paul would ever dare. Paul laughed to himself when he realised how far he’d fallen since last night – spending the day writing about John in between meeting him twice.

The lines that separated Paul’s world into neat boxes had blurred since yesterday. Was he writing about John because he needed to, or because he wanted to? Was there even a difference? He had felt his gut twist when they had said their goodbyes, he’d heard the words fall out of his mouth when he clumsily asked to see him again. So what did _need_ actually mean? His need to see John again was inspired by something much stronger than an article for a newspaper.

Placing his guitar back on its stand, he wandered towards the open window and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling up into the gentle spring breeze. Taking a seat on the end of his bed, Paul picked at the cracking paint on the windowsill, lazily watching the people and traffic from his second-floor vantage point. His thoughts didn’t stray far from John. He wondered what he was doing – probably not thinking about Paul while taking a break from writing about Paul. Suddenly he felt like a lovesick teenager.

Paul thought about John’s proposition, wondering what it meant. _Maybe I might be there too._ It wasn’t exactly a direct invitation to spend time with him. A simple _I’m going here, why don’t you come too_ would have been much easier. But then nothing about John seemed easy. Even in the short time he’d spent with John, his mood seemed to change on a whim, a single sentence or a look dictating how he would react. But then Paul had to admit that that was part of the fascination. Paul wasn’t sure if anyone had ever captured his imagination like John had.

The ash on Pauls cigarette had grown heavy, and with one sharp flick he sent it floating down to street level before throwing the spent cigarette down after it. Turning back into the room, he made his way back to his desk, sitting back down in front of his typewriter.

                                                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday afternoon saw Paul back in the city, his stomach tight with anticipation. Between the article and the invitation, his thoughts hadn’t been far from John all weekend. A nervousness gripped his body as he wondered if it had been the same for John – had he been thinking about Paul? Was he anxious to see him again? Was he even going to be there? Not that Paul knew where _there_ was. An address scrawled in John’s messy handwriting was all he had to go on. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly 5pm – an hour after John had said to get there. If he was going to turn up, he’d surely be there by now.

The further into the Haight Paul got, the more he wondered why he had even decided to go at all. This wasn’t his scene, not really. Then again, he knew why. _All this trouble for someone I barely even know. I really have got it bad._ Turning the corner, his thoughts were interrupted by a crowd of revellers cluttering the stone steps outside a large detached house. Paul looked down at the address John had scrawled on the paper. This was the place. Music could be heard coming from within the house, spilling out of the open doors and windows. Tattered curtains had been carelessly thrown open to let the spring sunshine in, the printed flower pattern clashing with the yellow paint that decorated the outside of the building. The large bay windows that defined the first two floors gave the house a grand feel, leaving Paul to wonder who had lived here before it became, well, whatever it was now.

As he approached the house the crowd parted slightly to provide a way through, offering friendly greetings as he made his way up the steps. The glass pane in the open front door had been used as a canvas, a brightly coloured sign reading “all welcome – celebrate love in the Haight” stuck to it, ready to greet any guests to the house. Stepping inside, Paul decided to take a look around the crowded house in the hope of seeing a familiar face, but before he could get more than a few steps inside he was greeted by an arm around his shoulder, guiding him into the front room.

“Hey! I haven’t seen you around here before. Welcome man! Can I get you a drink?”

Paul turned to look at the man. He was wearing a brightly coloured jumper and loose jeans, his long brown hair falling gently around his smiling face.

“Oh, thanks, I’m just looking for my friend. I should have brought a bottle or something, I didn’t realise-”

“Don’t worry about that, bring one next time instead! We’ve got plenty anyway.”

Walking Paul through the crowded room, they came to a halt in front of a large wooden table pushed up against the wall, stacks of glasses precariously balanced on top of each other to make room for the dozens of bottles that had been laid out.

“Help yourself man, we’ve got more inside.”

“Thanks, a beer would be great.” Paul leaned down and grabbed a bottle off the table, picking up a bottle opened and flicking the top off before taking a long swig. He felt a friendly pat on his shoulder as the man turned away to resume his hosting duties, clearly content that Paul had been greeted appropriately. Looking around the room, Paul watched the happy faces laughing and joking with each other. He felt calmer now, the heady beer soothing his nerves, leaving behind an anxious excitement that he tried to ignore. _John might not even be here. And even if he is, what is going to happen? What do I even want to happen?_ He felt his mind begin to answer his question, throwing up images from Friday night – John leaning in close, joking with him, winking at him, then thoughts of what might come next – quick breaths, hot bodies, hands running through hair - Paul took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Tightening his grip on the beer bottle, he decided to have a walk around the house. He could always try to find some musicians, talk to them about their band, or the music scene around the city – even if that was one of the furthest thoughts from his mind at that moment. He might not be able to convince himself that that’s why he came, but he could probably convince others.

Paul wandered slowly down the hall, taking in his surroundings. A sea of friendly faces greeted him, but not the one he wanted to see. Walking into the kitchen at the back of the house, he turned to lean back against the counter, supping at his beer as he vaguely listening to the conversations going on around him. He let his mind wander casually from one thought to another, watching the scene absentmindedly until a firm hand on his shoulder woke him from his daydream.

“You came then?” Paul turned to see a wide grin lighting up John’s face, a slightly glazed look in his eyes suggesting that he had been enjoying the party a lot longer than Paul had.

“How could I not when you asked me so nicely?”

“Thought you might have changed your mind when you still weren’t here at half 4. You seem like the punctual type, Paul.” John said teasingly.

“Maybe I’m not as predictable as you think.” With that he took a sip of his drink, keeping his eyes locked on John, who was watching Paul carefully. His eyes flicked down to watch as Paul lifted the bottle to his lips, his hands clenching momentarily. His almond eyes looked heavy lidded as he gazed down at Paul reclining against the counter, one elbow resting on the surface for support.

“Come with me.” John grabbed Paul’s wrist, leading him through to large room next to the kitchen. Smoke clouded around the high ceiling, drifting up from a group sitting in a circle of the floor, passing a joint around while listening to a record player stacked in the corner. John pushed Paul towards a worn sofa, watching Paul take a seat before thudding down next to him. The cushions were threadbare and the stuffing was worn down in the middle, causing the two men to be pushed together, their thighs resting against each other.

“Well this is cosy.” Paul joked, shifting in his seat in an attempt to get more comfortable.

“Isn’t it though?” John’s voice took on an affected tone, his head leaning to one side coquettishly.  “I tried me best to bring in some new furniture just for you, but the others just wouldn’t budge”

“Wait, this is your party?”

“No not mine, but I know the person throwing it. Sort of anyway. I said I’d help out in exchange for somewhere to sleep for a few nights. So far I’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding any work though.” John smiled to himself, leaning back against the small sofa. Paul frowned slightly, letting his gaze fall down towards the carpet.

“I can’t imagine living like that, not having your own space, not even knowing where you’re going to sleep in a few days.” He knew how the words made him sound. Having a nice quiet place to yourself wasn’t exactly meant to be your main concern around here, but Paul couldn’t help the words from spilling out of his mouth.

“It’s called fun Paul, not everything needs to be planned out. Sometimes you have to take chances in life, it’s what makes it exciting” Paul scoffed, shaking his head. John’s description didn’t exactly sound like Paul’s idea of fun, although he felt that it was probably better to keep that thought to himself. Looking up, Paul followed John’s gaze over to the corner of the room, where the smell of weed was slowly managing to fill the room from, drifting over towards them and distracting John from the conversation. “Like this, see” John gestured towards the corner, dragging Paul to his feet. Waltzing over, a smile plastered across his face, he addressed the circle of smokers sitting on the floor. “Hullo lads and ladies, mind if we join you?”.

“Sure John, here, we’ll make some room.” A chorus of agreement echoed around the circle as they spread out to allow John to take a seat, leaving a space on his left for Paul. “This is Paul by the way.” John nodded lazily towards him as Paul carefully took his seat, crossing his legs to fall in line with the rest of the circle.

“We were just talking about you actually, John”. Paul turned to his left to get a good look at the speaker. He seemed to be about the same age as them, maybe a few years older. His hair was thick, the dark curls grown out of any style it had once been cut into. He wore a floral shirt and thick glasses, his round face smiling back at them.

“Oh yeah? All good I hope.” The two men talked across Paul, leaving him unsure of where to rest his gaze. For a moment he stared awkwardly into the middle distance of the circle before turning to focus his attention on John. As if in recognition of this, John glanced at Paul, winking at him so quickly that Paul wondered if he’d imagined it. The grin on John’s face, however, suggested that he hadn’t. Suddenly Paul became intensely aware of John’s thigh pressing up against his own, and looking down he noticed John’s hand resting on his own legs, moving up slightly to brush innocently against Paul’s before he returned them to his lap.

“Yeah, just talking about how you’ve come all the way out here, just for the experience. That’s dedication, man. No plans, no money, no worries.”

“Well, it wasn’t like there was much keeping me in Liverpool. And it sounded like a laugh out here.” John turned his focus to Paul, leaning towards him with a smirk playing on his lips. “And it is.”

Paul let out a laugh, finding himself biting his bottom lip to supress a smile. He shared a look with John, their eyes locking for a moment before they both turned back to face the circle.

“Anyway, we didn’t come over here to discuss my life” John scanned the circle, squinting in an attempt to get a better view. “Ah! Here, pass us it.”

“Wait your turn, John”

“Come on, where’s your manners? Paulie here’s our guest and no one’s even offered him a drag yet” John held his hand out towards a girl holding a joint, leaning forwards onto his knees as she reluctantly held it out for him to take. Sitting back down, John held his hand up towards Paul, pinching the roughly rolled paper between his fingers.

“Honestly John…” Paul complained half-heartedly, although he was only too happy to take a drag, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs before letting smoke escape past his lips in a long, slow breath. His mind was too busy, full of what-ifs and consequences, and the warmth of the smoke hitting the back of his throat and clouding his mind was a welcome distraction. He felt his mood lighten almost immediately, a grin spreading across his face. He was here, with John. That’s all that really mattered. That’s all he’d really wanted since they met. And he knew John wanted it too. As he watched the joint being passed around the circle, talking and smoking and laughing, his nerves and worries seemed to melt away. He found himself shifting his hips to move himself closer to John, resting his forearms on his legs and letting his elbows fall out across John’s thighs. He looked up at John teasingly, watching him move the joint to his lips. John met his gaze before looking away, shaking his head with an amused grin on his face.

“You’re an interesting one, you know.” John said quietly, his eyes watching the others but his voice meant only for Paul.

“So I’ve been told.” Paul placed him hand firmly on John’s thigh, John’s eyes widening in surprise before Paul stood up from the circle, as if using John as a support to get to his feet. John laughed, gazing up at Paul with a knowing look.

“Going somewhere?”

“I thought you said there would be live music at this party? That’s the only reason I came in the first place.” Paul’s eyes gleamed with mischief, his pleasure at teasing John shining through the cloudy redness that had appeared since he sat down.

“Oh is it?” John clambered to his feet, removing himself from the circle which quickly closed the gap left by the two men. “Well maybe if you’re good I’ll introduce you”

“I’m always good”

“I doubt that somehow.” John raised one eyebrow playfully at Paul, placing a hand on his left elbow and spinning him around to face the door. “There’s a few bands setting up outside, nothing too special though to be honest.”

They walked through the kitchen to the back door, stepping out into a small yard. The warmth of the day had faded in the hours since Paul had arrived. The space itself was neglected and overgrown, although somehow it carried an unkempt charm in the evening twilight. A large wooden balcony jutted out above them, shading them from the fading rays of the sun. A set of stairs offering a path down the side of the house to the yard had been crowded by party goers, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Some worn decking standing up against a crumbling brick wall acted as a makeshift stage, where Paul noticed a group of musicians hanging around. An overwhelming feeling of fondness filled Pauls chest, spreading out and warming his whole body. He was here, with John, with the music, with nothing to worry about. He was where he wanted to be, finally.

“See? Just some acoustic sets on an old bit of wood. Nice enough though I ‘spose.”

“No, you know what John? I love it. The music, the sunshine, the people. It’s great, you know?”

“I see the pot’s doing its job there Paul” John laughed, elbowing Paul in the side. Paul pushed John away, causing them both to stumble apart.

“shurrup you” Paul growled in mock anger, turning to take a seat against the far wall. John slumped down next to him, letting his head fall back against the brickwork, his dark eyes closed against the evening sunshine. In that quiet moment in the yard, Paul allowed his gaze to explore all of John for the first time. His auburn hair was thick, the length grown out just enough for the curl to start to show. His proud nose wrinkled slightly in the sunshine, his lips loosely pressed together invitingly. His face had a contented glow about it, the strong features seeming somehow softer than before. He had his legs pulled up towards his chest, his arms stretched out to rest against his knees, allowing his hands to hang gently to the side. John’s fingers were slim yet masculine, the scars of hours of guitar playing marking his fingertips. Paul had to supress an overwhelming urge to reach out and take John’s hand in his own. His gaze fell further down John’s body, taking in his slim hips and strong thighs. At that Paul’s thoughts began to wander freely, his mind throwing up brazen scenes of heated touches and quickened breaths as his eyes stared unseeingly at John. Lifting his head, John squinted in the sunshine, shading his eyes and turning towards Paul.

“Were you watching me that whole time?” John’s voice echoed into Paul’s daydream, muffled at first, like a sound heard underwater. Then John’s eyes caught Paul’s and he was pulled out of his reverie. He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks begin to flush.

“Hmm, what? Err, no, I was just daydreaming, you know.”

“Oh yeah? What about?” John wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Paul just rolled his eyes in response before looking over towards the stage in a futile attempt to change the subject.

“So when does the music start?” John let the words hang in the air, teasing Paul with his silence. Paul felt John’s gaze on him, the amused grin on his face vaguely visible out of the corner of his eye.

“John?” Paul pushed the question, turning to demand a response but finding himself unable to hold back a smile when his eyes met John’s.  John’s lips began to twitch and before they knew it they had both descended into a fit of laughter. Falling back against the wall, their shoulders pressed tight against each other, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Ah fuck. I hate you, you know.” Paul flicked his eyes up playfully towards John, who let out a high-pitched giggle, patting Paul on the thigh.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way Macca. ‘Ey look, they’re tuning up over there. Maybe we’ll finally get some music soon. Get your scrap piece of paper ready for the interviews.”

Paul closed his eyes and shook his head, a laugh escaping from his lips. “Fuck off” he said gently, pushing John’s leg with his right hand before leaving it to rest against his thigh, his index finger tracing a small pattern along the rough denim. The pair sat quietly for a while, listening to the comforting hum of the party and enjoying each other’s company. The bands began to play as the last of the sun’s rays slipped below the houses, a mixture of covers and original songs that, in truth, Paul paid little attention to. His thoughts were on John, on how natural this felt. How good it was to joke with him, be close to him, touch him like this.

They sat contentedly in each other’s company, sharing opinions and stories about music and life when they came to mind. By the time the bands had finished and the crowds were heading inside, the sun had long since fallen below the horizon and the spring chill had marked the arrival of night time. Standing up, Paul got a clear view of the moon for the first time, the bright glow lighting up the small yard.

“Look up here John! The moons so bright tonight.” Paul took a few steps back, standing on his tip toes to see above the rooftops. Looking behind him, he spotted his opportunity and ran up to the balcony, signalling for John to follow him. “See? It looks so clear.” Paul gestured out into the cool night air, waiting for John to reach the top of the steps.

“It’s amazing Paul. Truly awe inspiring.”

“Alright, alright, I was just saying-”

“No you’re right, it is lovely Paul.” John leant over the barrier, watching the last of the crowd make their way inside before thudding down on the bench behind them.

“Don’t you want to go inside?”

“I’d rather stay out here for a bit, I think. If you will too.” Paul felt himself grow warm with happiness at John’s words. They felt like a comfort, a confirmation that he wasn’t alone, that maybe this really could be something. John wanted to be with him, just him, out here on this cool spring evening in the middle of the city. A genuine smile spread across his lips as he took his place next to John on the small wooden bench, the warm body pressed against his own offering relief from the cold night air.

“So tell me Paul, what’s it like over at Berkeley? Is it as crazy across the water?”

“It’s quieter, you know. A little bit more removed from all this sort of stuff. I mean everyone talks about it, but they’re not really living it. It’s like watching through a window or something. To be honest this whole thing – the show the other day, this party – it’s the closest I’ve got to seeing it all for myself since I got here.”

“And how long’s that been?”

“Well I’m in me third year now. Got me own flat just outside campus, small and boring but it’s mine. It’s nice to have a bit of privacy, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean.” John’s tone was flirty but his eyes were glazed over, a thoughtful look on his face. He scanned the darkness, seeming to study the night sky. 

What about you? When did you get here?”

“Not long ago. Like a month or two. It’s been some ride though. Everything’s new here, it’s just changing all the time. New people, new music, new experiences – no one’s scared or holding back, no one worrying what other people will think. It’s my sort of place Paul. These are my sort of people.” John’s eyes had lit up as he spoke, and there was an excitement to his words that Paul didn’t think he’d seen before. A sinking feeling of doubt suddenly grabbed hold of Paul, twisting through his gut. _These are my sort of people –_ without warning his mind was filled with uncertainty – this world was so removed from his own – was he removed from John too? Before he could dwell on the questions floating around his mind, he pushed the thoughts out of his head and focussed on the moment. He was here, with John, that’s all that mattered.

“Sounds great, John” Paul replied with forced enthusiasm, keen to change the subject. “So now you know all about my place, tell me, where are you staying?”

“Oh, just around, you know. There’s always space somewhere.” John waved his hand vaguely, a blasé tone to his words.

“What do you mean ‘around’? You’re just sleeping in spare rooms in random houses?” Paul tried to keep his tone casual, but he could feel the tension building inside of him.

“If I’m lucky! A floor, a sofa, anywhere really. Normally get a few offers in exchange for a favour or two”

“You don’t even have a bed?”

“And why would you be interested in that, Paulie?” John raised his eyebrow, a grin on his face. Paul knew what he should do, what he _wanted_ to do even. The chance was there to be taken, but Paul felt it slip away as he opened his mouth.

“You need your own space John” he said flatly. John leaned back against the wooden seat, clearly frustrated at Paul’s words.

“alright mother, thanks for letting me know.” He rolled his eyes and stood up, leaving Paul feeling exposed, the cool air rushing to fill the space left by John. He walked over to the railing, resting his hands of the wood and gazing up at the dark sky.

“I’m just saying, you can’t live like that forever. It can only last so long.” Paul’s voice was softer now, a caring tone permeating the tension building between them. Exasperation coursed through his body, his hands balled into fists in frustration – in equal parts at himself and at John. His mood swings left Paul racing to catch up with him – even if he did put his foot in his mouth every now and then.

John shook his head as he gazed out into the darkness. “You know, maybe I had you right at the start. _You’re boring.”_ He turned back towards Paul, looking him in the eyes as he said it. It was almost a challenge, John’s eyes staring deep into Paul’s, daring him to prove him wrong.

“whatever, John.” Paul stood up and walked down the stairs, determined not to look back. He wasn’t going to rise to that. Not in the way John wanted him to, anyway.

Picking up a new bottle of beer as he walked through the kitchen, Paul looked around the room, evaluating the prospects. _I’ll show him boring._ A fresh-faced girl caught his eye. Standing next to the table, her blonde hair fell gently around her cheeks. Wide eyed and rosy lipped, her dark lashes batted when she caught Paul’s eye, smiling happily as she watched Paul make his way towards her.

“thought you might like another drink.” Paul held out the bottle towards her, a charming smile spread across his face.

“thank you…”

“Paul”

“Paul.” She looked up at Paul alluringly from under her long eyelashes. Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw John trudge in through the back door. Without thinking, he looked over at him, the two men locking eyes across the room before Paul could stop himself. John looked frustrated, his heavy eyebrows knitted into a frown. He picked up a bottle off the counter and slumped down into a chair, keeping his eyes fixed on Paul. Paul swallowed dryly, lost in thought. _Why am I doing this? What am I trying to prove?_

“Paul?”

“hmm?”

“I said my name’s Grace.”

“Oh, yeah, Grace. That’s a lovely name. Sorry love, I just need to run to the other room. I’ll be right back”

“Okay, don’t worry about it, I’ll be right here.” Grace smiled back at Paul, although there was no hiding the confusion in her voice. Paul figured he should feel embarrassed, but his mind refused to think about anything but John. He pushed his way upstairs, hoping to get a little breathing space somewhere. The bathroom door was open, the small room empty, and Paul gladly rushed inside and shut the door after himself, taking a deep breath as he leaned forwards against the sink. He turned the tap to splash some cold water on his face, staring himself down in the mirror. The white tiled walls reflected the light harshly, the contrast between Pauls pale skin and black hair even more stark than normal. The effects of the weed were reflected in his eyes, the watery redness letting everyone know what he’d been doing with his night. Not that anyone here was any different.

Paul’s moment of solace was interrupted by the click of the door opening, causing him to close his eyes in frustration.

“Someone’s in here”

“Yeah, I know” John laughed wryly. Paul didn’t turn around, instead looking for John’s reflection in the mirror. Their eyes met as John slowly walked across the room, coming to a standstill just behind Paul.

“Having a good time, are you Paul?”

“Yeah, the best” he scoffed, watching John’s reflection in the mirror.

“You seemed to be having a nice conversation with that girl.”

“Grace”

“Grace? How lovely.” John took a step forwards, pressing himself against Paul. Paul let out a sigh, closing his eyes again. Hands on the sink, he instinctively leaned forwards, pressing back against John. “I think you’re really on to something there.”

John placed his right hand on the marble surface next to Paul’s. looking up at the mirror again, he found John’s reflection staring back at him. A sparkle in John’s eyes sent a chill down his spine. This was another battle of wills, a challenge being thrown back and forth between them, just like in the club. “Oh I don’t know, she’s a little too vanilla for me. I like a challenge, you know? Sometimes it’s good not to know where you stand.”

“Bit like yourself then. I could’ve guessed you’d go for that.”

Paul pushed himself back off the sink, turning around to face John. John stood his ground, pressing Paul back against the counter, their lips just inches apart. Their hot breath mingled as they looked at each other, Paul’s eyes flicking down to steal a glance at John’s lips.

“You’re funny, you.” Paul nodded gently to emphasise his point, his sarcastic tone sounding slightly strangled as he became aware of John’s hips pressing against his. John pressed his knee against Paul, forcing his legs open. Paul’s grip on the sink tightened, his hands placed either side of his hips for support.

In one swift movement, John closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Paul’s. The kiss was messy, greedy, an explosion of tension that had been building between them all night. Paul grabbed the back of John neck with both hands, his fingers pulling at John’s hair as the kiss deepened. John ran his hands across Paul’s stomach, reaching round to Paul’s hips to pull himself even closer. The denim of their jeans rubbed together as John squeezed Paul with both hands.

“You’ve got a great arse you know, been watching it all night.”

“Oh yeah?” Paul grinned, resting his cheek against John’s for a moment before kissing his way down towards John’s neck.

“Like you don’t know” John laughed breathlessly. “Fuck Paul, I’ve been wanting this since I saw you at the bar.”

“Me too Johnny, me too” Paul muttered between kisses. He sucked at the base of John’s neck, biting gently against John’s tender skin. A low groan passed through John’s lips, his hips bucking up towards Paul’s. He lifted his thumb to rub over John’s skin, admiring the pink patch on John’s neck before he pressed their mouths together again. This time it was more intense, their tongues wrestling against each other. Paul grabbed John’s shirt and spun him round, shoving him up against the sink and pressing his body against John’s. John steadied himself against the sink before pressing a hand against Paul’s stomach again, this time letting his hand wander south to Paul’s jeans. Paul’s tongue retreated into his mouth as he let out a strangled moan against John’s lips, blood rushing south as he felt a squeeze through his trousers. Paul tightened his grip on the fabric of John’s shirt, pulling it taught against his chest.

“let me Paul, let me.” Paul felt John’s breath against his lips as he mouthed the words almost silently.

“you want this Johnny?” Paul said, stepping back and rubbing his hand over his crotch. His eyes widened, a wicked grin plastered across his face. Paul’s concern for his surroundings had been pushed out by John’s words, his body suddenly aching with want.

“Paul…” John took a step towards him, licking his lips. “You wouldn’t tease a man, now, would you?”

“Me? Never John, not in a million years.” He winked invitingly at John, standing assuredly in the middle of the bathroom. He watched John push himself forwards off the sink, pressing himself against the younger man as he lifted Paul’s shirt and grabbed his waistband, pulling him closer, his hands tripping over each other in an attempt the top button of Paul’s jeans. Paul felt himself growing harder, John’s knuckles rubbing against the skin just above his pelvis and sending shockwaves through his body. He undid the zip, revealing Paul’s cotton underpants which had begun to strain against his arousal. Kneeling down to take in the sight, John left Paul staring at his reflection in the mirror, his face flushed and hair tousled. He scoffed at the absurdity of the situation before looking down at John who was grinning wickedly up at him.

“Got a good view there?” he laughed, placing his hands on Paul’s thighs, rubbing against the thick denim.

“Fucking hell John”

“I thought you’d say that.” At that moment a knock on the door made both men jump apart, the door swinging open to reveal John scrambling to his feet. He casually leant back against the sink while Paul quickly turned his back to the door, fumbling with the fastening on his jeans and digging his hands into his pockets before turning back towards John apprehensively. John gave him a once over, scanning Paul from head to toe and raising his eyebrows in amusement, his mouth open in a wide smile, catching Paul’s fretful gaze. Before he could say anything, John cleared his throat, turning to address the man who had appeared in the doorway in a mockingly formal manor.

“May we help you?”

“Err, yeah, sorry if I interrupted anything” At that he gave a quick glance towards Paul, whose crimson cheeks were puffed out, his mind focussed on fiercely avoiding meeting the man’s gaze. “but we need you downstairs John. You’ve been gone for ages.”

“I’m a little busy here to be honest”

“Look John, we let you have the sofa in exchange for you helping out at this party. You’ve been missing all night. Be fair, man.”

With a frustrated grunt, John slammed his hands against the sink, pushing himself forward and walking towards the door.

“I’m coming back for you, Macca” he said with a grin. With that Paul was left alone, red faced and flushed, his reflection staring back at him in the large bathroom mirror. He ran his eyes up and down his body, scoffing at his appearance. _Fucking hell Paul, what are you doing._ Leaning over the sink to splash water on his face, he smoothed his clothes out and ran his hand through his hair, flicking his head to help it fall back into place. He took a deep breath, feeling his heartrate slowly return to a comfortable rhythm. John had closed the door over after him, leaving Paul with a moment of solitude that he greatly needed. Feeling more composed, Paul placed his hand on the doorknob, swinging the door open to be confronted by two men, about Paul’s age, leaning back against the banisters, their eyes fixed on the bathroom door.

“Looks like John’s been having some fun again!” The pair laughed as Paul emerged, stopping him in his tracks.

“He’s not alone” said the other, nodding towards a couple pressed up against the wall. Paul felt his cheeks redden again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and held his head down, studying the pattern of the threadbare carpet as he pushed his way through the crowd and down the stairs.

“Hold on – Paul, right? We were just kidding! That’s what it’s all about right? We’re just here to have fun and share the love.”

Paul heard the words echo after him as he made for the front door, stepping out into the quiet darkness. The muffled sound of music and laughter filled air, streaming through the thin windows of the house. Paul took a seat on the bottom step and began to light a cigarette, the stone cold against his legs. The familiar feeling of doubt had returned, leaving him feeling empty and unsure. It wasn’t anger or embarrassment that had led him outside, it was uncertainty. The drugs, the music, the sexual freedom. This was John’s world, not his. His mind had sobered up, the haze of weed and lust lifted by the cold night, leaving their earlier conversation free resonate in his head. One thought wouldn’t leave his mind – if these were John’s _sort of people,_ where did that leave Paul? Was he just another distraction, a story to tell, an experience to have before moving on to the next one? _Looks like John’s been having some fun again_ – he wasn’t the first, and Paul couldn’t help thinking he wouldn’t be the last either. And there was nothing wrong with that – John had never promised him anything – but he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle it. There was just something about John, something pulling him in, and he couldn’t help but feel that he could get lost in John’s world if he wasn’t careful. _Best get out now before it’s too late. You’ll get hurt if you carry on like this._

Suddenly Paul felt himself get to his feet, standing tall in front of the old house. He looked up at the front door, staring quietly for a moment before looking down the dimly lit road. A feeling of loneliness hit him, sending a cold shiver down his spine. A leap into the unknown or a step back to the mundane. He had to choose, but neither seemed appealing. Letting his mind go blank, he felt his feet carrying him away from the party, from the city, from John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you fancy having a chat come and find me over on tumblr - drearymondays.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

The music rang out around the small flat, bouncing off the walls and filling the empty silence as Paul’s fingers danced along the fretboard. The tune was original and yet familiar, skipping through Paul’s repertoire, the painstaking hours of practise letting his mind wander as his muscle memory took over. It had been three days since the party. Three days since he’d walked out of John, left him there with no explanation. He felt his muscles tense with anxiety, the same thoughts that had been plaguing him since that day still at the front of his mind. _Was John angry? Was he disappointed? Did he even care?_ Paul had spent what seemed like every waking minute trying to reason with himself, trying to explain why it was best this way. _We’re too different, better a little pain now than a broken heart later._ The only thing that had brought him any comfort was playing his guitar. When he picked it up he felt content, a soothing feeling of calm washing over him as he played.

Paul rested his hand against the strings, leaving the room silent. _Yes. It was the right decision. Even if I fucked up the exit. It’s better not to get involved like that. I would have fallen headfirst if I’d let it go on much longer. Then where would I be?_

A knock at the door interrupted Paul’s inner monologue. He took hold of the neck of his guitar and stood up, leaning it carefully against the wall before turning his attention to the source of the noise. No one ever called round out of the blue like that.

“Hello?”

“’Ey! Is that you Paul? Open the door!” The thin wood did little to disguise their voices. There was no chance of hiding here.

“How did you find me?”

“You were in the campus directory Paul. You’re not a bloody international man of mystery. Let me in!”

Paul walked over to the door, resting his head against the cool wood, taking a moment to prepare himself for what was about to come. _Fuck._

“Alright, hang on.” He lifted his hand to the latch, his eyes cast downwards. With a deep breath he stepped backwards, swinging the door open and coming face to face with John.

“I looked for you on Sunday but I couldn’t find you anywhere. Where the fuck did you go?” John’s tone sounded more exasperated than angry. His arms flew up to emphasise his words as he barged his way into Paul’s flat.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“ _Sorry?_ For fucks sake Paul. Just tell me why. What happened? What did I do?”

“Nothing John, you didn’t do anything. I just didn’t feel well.” Paul pushed the door shut slowly, determined not to meet John’s eyes.

“That’s a load of bollocks Paul. You seemed to be feeling pretty alright a few minutes earlier – willing to let me get on me knees weren’t you? More than willing I’d say.” Paul could hear the frustration in John’s voice, his chest tightening as the tension rose between them. He knew he needed to find the right words, but he had no idea what they were meant to be.

“Look John, I just don’t think it’s right. It’s not going to work, I should never have got involved.”

“You should know I never normally chase after people Paul. If they fuck off like you did then good riddance.” John’s voice was measured, an air of control muting the emotion that he had delivered his previous words with.

“Why are you here then?”

“I’m asking myself the same thing” he replied wryly.

“Look John, it’s probably just best if you leave. For both of us.”

“I didn’t come all the way out here to leave after two minutes.”

With a heavy sigh, Paul sank onto his sofa, avoiding John’s gaze. “Alright John, fine. I left because that whole scene’s just not me, you know? It’s not who I am.”

“Maybe it could be.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be. It’s _you_ John, and that’s fine. You can drift around, sleeping on people’s floors, drinking and smoking and living off music. You _can_ and you _should_ , if that’s who you want to be. But it’s not who I am. I’m this” Paul held his hand out, sweeping his arm across his body to draw John’s attention to his room. “I’m a small flat near campus. I’m writing and studying and playing my guitar.”

“Do you really think I don’t know that Paul? I knew it from when we first met. The only reason I invited you to that party was because you asked me to”

Paul jumped to his feet, anger and hurt suddenly surging through him. “Oh thanks John. Coming to my flat and telling me that. Why don’t you just-”

“I didn’t mean it like that Paul, for fuck’s sake. I just wanted to see you!” He took a step towards Paul, his shoulders tight and his fists clenched. “I couldn’t get you out of me mind! Your fucking voice and your puppy dog eyes, and your shite jokes” John took another step forwards, moving himself close enough that Paul could feel the heat from his body against own. John let his eyes drift down to Paul’s mouth, causing Paul to swallow dryly. Without another word, John pushed his lips against Paul’s clumsily. He grabbed hold of Paul’s arms, holding him in place with a firm grip as the kiss deepened. Paul leaned forward, shaking his arms out of John’s grip and clutching at John’s clothes, pulling him closer. Suddenly a moment of clarity hit Paul, and his hands that had been grabbing at John flattened against his chest and pushed him away.

“Fuck! No. Not again John. I’ve already made up my mind. I can’t let myself do this.”

“Do what Paul? It’s just a bit of fun!”

“Yeah exactly.” Paul rubbed his hand across his forehead, willing himself to hold it together. _Just a few more minutes and he’ll give up. It’s for the best. It has to be._

“Seriously Paul, I don’t know why you’re being like this. What are you scared of?”

“Just fuck off John!” _It’s going to hurt too much._ The words flashed across his mind, but he pressed his lips together before they could spill out of his mouth. Clearing his throat, he looked towards the window, anxious not to look John in the eye. He could feel John’s stare on him, an awkward, angry silence filling the room. Paul had never been caught up in someone like this before, he’d never felt so out of control. _I am scared John. I’m scared you won’t want me. I’m scared I won’t be enough. I’m scared I’ll get lost in you._ Paul turned to face John again, neither of them ready to speak. John’s eyes were dark, his brow heavy. He looked like he was trying to read Paul’s expression, his eyes scanning from side to side over Paul’s face. Straightening his back and lifting his head up, John stood quietly for a moment.

“That’s fine Paul. Fucking fine. If that’s what you want. We barely even know each other, what are we really missing out on, hey?” John shrugged pointedly, his harsh movements seeming abrasive after the stillness of the last few minutes. “If you want me gone, I’m gone.”

“John…” Paul didn’t even know what he was going to say, but John had slammed the door behind him before he had the chance to hear it.

                                                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paul walked down the thin street, the events of the last couple of weeks still fresh in his mind. The morning sunshine had given way to thick grey clouds, the promise of rain causing a rush amongst the weekend public. The Barb had gone on sale two days ago, complete with Paul’s article. It was almost funny, really. _In the spotlight: John Lennon_ – it really wasn’t what Paul had needed, but it had been too late to change. He hoped desperately that John would have forgotten about it. He had written most of it before all these complications – before the party, before the kiss, before he got caught up or lashed out – but reading through it still felt painful. It was as if there was an innocence to it – one that had lasted a matter of days before he’d ruined it for himself. Now he was left with some bad memories and his name in a newspaper he didn’t even want to read.

As he neared his apartment building, a crash of thunder marked the beginning of a downpour. Running down the remaining stretch of road, he pressed himself flat against the door, hoping to shelter against the building while he fumbled for his keys. Turning the key in the lock, he pushed his way into the small entrance hall, shaking out the damp clothes clinging to his body and shrugging off his overcoat. The hall was cramped but well organised, a bright hanging lamp lighting the wooden slots used to house any letters that came through the heavy front door. On the second row down, Paul’s section was labelled neatly, _No. 22 – P. McCartney_ stuck to the wooden surface, the small black letters printed smartly on white paper held inside a brass display. Taking hold of the letters inside, Paul flipped mindlessly through the various flyers and promotions that arrived every day. In amongst the mass of papers, a small postcard caught his eye, a brightly coloured surreal city-scape showing a view down the hill and over the bay. Flipping the card over, a message was scrawled on the back in messy handwriting.

 _Paul. I saw your article. It was good. Thanks for writing about me._ _I found myself a room to rent in the Haight. My own place, like you were saying? Just me and my guitar. Come and find me if you want to. I want you to. John._

An address was scribbled at the bottom of the page, just about legible, the writing getting smaller and smaller as the space ran out. A pang of hope filled his chest, his mind suddenly blank. _He still wants me._ The thought dominated his mind, his self-control suddenly feeling lost to his emotions. _How is this so difficult?_ The inner conflict that surrounded Paul seemed clearer now – this was his chance – his last chance – to get what he really wanted. And even he wasn’t going to mess it up this time.

With a deep breath, Paul pulled his coat back on and stepped out into the pouring rain.

                                                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing on the doorstep, Paul looked up at the at the dark upstairs windows, willing himself to knock at the door. The rain had yet to let up and his clothes were soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to his cold body. He rang the bell next to 305, the shrill chime barely audibles over the heavy showers. Waiting there for a response, an odd feeling of calm descended over him. At least whatever happened now, he would know he had tried.

Footsteps rang out from inside, stopping behind the heavy door. The brass latch clicked, the slow steady swing of the door leaving Paul standing face to face with John.

“Fuck me Paul, you’re soaked!”

“Nice to see you too.” At that John grabbed Paul’s coat, dragging him in out of the rain. Paul stumbled into the empty reception hall, planting his feet firmly on the cold stone floor. John had taken a step back, an odd silence leaving them in quiet contemplation of each other.

“Look, John-”

“Come on, come upstairs. You must be freezing.” With that John turned his back on Paul, leading him to the stairs at the back of the hall. “It’s only small, you know. Really small. My room I mean. It’s up in the attic and I share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor. But it’s nice. It’s mine.”

“it’s great John, if that’s what you want.”

They reached the top floor, the stairs creaking under their feet. A set of white painted numbers marked John’s door, and, when he stepped inside, the room itself was exactly what John had said. The attic ceiling sloped low at one end of the room, a skylight bathing a small bed in the little light offered by the grey afternoon. The room was sparse, a chest of draws and a small table in front of an old sofa the only other furniture. John’s guitar had been left lying on his bed, and a few books had been piled onto a rickety looking shelf, but other than that the room was empty.

“Is this all you’ve got?”

John raised his eyebrows, a grin playing on his lips. “Are you really surprised? I was homeless until a few days ago.”

“You’ve got a point there.” Paul laughed, a sparkle returning to his eyes. It was easy talking to John, even when it wasn’t. A shiver ran down Paul’s spine, his body tensing in an effort to warm up. “Ugh, god, it’s cold. I don’t recommend wandering around in the rain, in case you were considering it.” John scoffed, moving to open one of the draws in his dresser.

“It wasn’t really on me to do list, to be honest. Here.” He threw a towel at Paul, who grabbed it out of the air, wrapping his hands in the warm fabric. “At least take your coat and jumper off, too. _You’ll catch your death, you know”_ he said in a plummy tone, his eyebrow raised teasingly.

Sliding off his coat and jumper, Paul let the clothes fall into a wet pile of the floor, his damp shirt and trousers still clinging to his body. He pulled at them uncomfortably, looking over to see John watching him, wide eyed. Paul raised his eyebrows at John, who turned away to busy himself with the nearby chest of draws. _Probably best to leave these on for now. Bit difficult to talk about anything serious in just me pants._ He ran the towel over his face and hair, mopping futilely at his clothes before throwing the towel into the pile on the floor.

“Alright, John. I think we need to talk, about what happen, you know. I think I need to explain.”

“You mean explain why you’ve been such awkward bastard basically since we met?” John closed the draw as he spoke, his hands resting against the wooden surface for a moment before he turned to look at Paul.

“Yeah, something like that.” Paul let out a short laugh, his gaze cast down towards the floor. “I was just nervous, you know John. Scared, even. It’s never been like this before. Normally I meet someone and it’s just, you know, nice. I like them. They’re fun. With you it’s different.”

“Oh thanks.” Paul ignored John, determined to finish what he was saying before he lost his nerve.

“It’s more. It’s like this fear – that you’ll lose interest, or I won’t be enough. It’s this nagging feeling that I’ll get hurt, because fuck, as soon as I met you I knew it had never been like this with anyone else. But then you just seemed so different – you’re there, living it, and I’m just watching – I panicked. I told myself I needed to get out before it was too late.”

“I don’t know why you’re the one that’s worried Paul, I feel like I haven’t been able to keep you in one place for more than five minutes at a time.” Paul snorted and smiled to himself.

“But you know John, I couldn’t help myself. When you came round, I tried. But then that postcard. I just wanted this too much. I wanted you.” The gap between them suddenly seemed so wide, the unheated room leaving Paul shivering in his damp clothes. As if in reaction to his words, John took a step forwards, moving close enough to rest his hand on Paul’s tense shoulder, his thumb tracing Paul’s collarbone through the thin fabric.

 “Say that last bit again.” John’s voice was deep and rough, his dark eyes staring into Paul’s unblinkingly.

“I want you, John.”

And that was it. It was all John needed. All he wanted to hear. In that moment the gap between them was gone, and Paul felt John’s lips pressed against his own, the kiss messy and desperate, his hands exploring Paul’s body, pushing him backwards until he felt his back thud against the cold wall. The kiss broke and Paul lifted his head, his breathing erratic. His left hand held a fistful of John’s woollen jumper, pulling him closer, his right was wrapped around the back of John’s neck, his fingers buried in auburn hair.

“Christ, John” he whispered breathlessly, his mind racing at the feeling of open mouthed kisses being pressed along his jawline. Paul felt John smile as he kissed and nibbled his way down Paul’s neck, his mouth leaving a pink trail against the pale skin.

“You’re fucking freezing, son.”

“you’re telling me.”

Moving his hands to the front of Paul’s shirt, his fingers fumbled over the small buttons. “This’ll sort it.” Paul let out a breathy laugh, his hands cupping John’s cheeks and bringing his head level with his own, capturing John’s mouth as his shirt fell open. His head tilted sideways, the kiss deepening, their tongues teasing each other while John’s hand traced up Paul’s bare chest. John’s knee pressed against the wall between Paul’s legs, and the feeling of being pinned in place like this was sending Paul’s blood rushing south. John’s hand ran down Paul’s sides and rested on his hips, tracing his fingertips along the skin just above his trousers, sending shivers down Paul’s spine. His hands came to meet just below Paul’s belly button, where he traced the dark line of hair down to meet Paul’s belt buckle.

“Even your bloody trousers are soaked” he said playfully, working to loosen the buckle, pushing down the zip and letting his palm linger over Paul’s cock, causing Paul to buck his hips and let out a strangled moan. John let his mouth work its way up Paul’s neck, his hands wandering back up Paul’s body to brush his thumb against Paul’s cheek, their entwined legs still holding his trousers up. They kissed heatedly for a moment before Paul pushed John away, leaning forwards off the wall to let his shirt and trousers fall to the floor. He kicked off his shoes and stepped free of the material, standing for a moment facing John, his legs planted firmly apart and his pupils wide. John’s eyes were wandering all over his body, resting for a moment on the growing bulge in his boxers before he let his gaze slowly climb up to meet Paul’s.

“I’m feeling a little exposed here, to be honest” Paul joked, but his expression was hungry, his eyes glazed over with lust. He sprang forward towards John, pulling at his clothes as he covered his face in soft kisses. Paul took hold of the hem of John’s jumper and t-shirt, pulling them up over his head and throwing them behind him in a twisted mess. He pressed his bare chest against John’s, an electric heat spreading across his body from where their skin touched. The two of them stumbled towards the small bed in a tangle of limbs, tripping over their feet, their hands clutching at each other’s skin. Paul felt John crash against the wooden bedframe, his legs giving way as he fell onto the soft blankets, pulling Paul down on top of him. Paul moved his leg up between John’s thighs, feeling John’s straining erection pressing against his tight linen trousers. Moving to straddle John’s hips, he sat back on his knees, letting his fingers run down John’s chest. He watched John underneath him for a moment, lying flat on the bed, his eyes heavy with lust while an open-mouthed grin decorated his face, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. Paul’s body ached for John, but in that moment, gazing into John’s eyes, all he could think about was how happy he felt. He leaned down, pressing his body against John’s, letting his lips ghost along the side of John’s face.

“I can’t believe I almost fucked this up” He breathed the words into John’s ear, sending a tremble through his body. John’s hands grabbed at Paul’s back, his lips kissing the crook of his neck.

“happens to the best of us” John laughed breathlessly. Paul took John’s earlobe gently between his teeth, causing a sharp intake of breath from John, before he began kissing his way down John’s jawline, finding John’s mouth again in a passionate embrace. Paul felt John’s hips bucking up underneath him, rubbing their crotches together through the thin material. The friction forced a desperate moan past John’s lips, the sound muffled inside Paul’s mouth. Paul lifted his head slightly, just enough to focus on John’s eyes.

“Patience, Johnny” he said with a mischievous grin, his lips finding the hollow at the bottom of John’s neck.

“fuck, Paul.” John closed his eyes and pushed his head back into the blanket, his hands wandering over Paul’s back. Paul traced his lips teasingly across John’s chest, feeling his stomach muscles twitch under his touch. He paused to take John’s nipple in his mouth, biting down softly while his hands reached out for the fastening on John’s trousers, the thought of what was underneath sending his mind racing.

“Here you go luv, that’s it.” 

He pulled John’s trousers open, letting his palm run over the bulge underneath. He traced the shape of John with his fingers, feeling the heat of John’s cock through the tented cotton. With one swift movement, Paul grabbed the waistband of John’s boxers and pulled them down, letting the cold air lingering around the room wash over John as his cock sprang to attention. John let out a weak groan, bucking his hips up towards Paul. He propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes dark with lust. This was exactly what Paul had been waiting for – what he’d wanted since he first met John.

“Are you watching, Johnny?” Paul grinned, staring back into John’s eyes as he took John in his hand, spreading his tongue out flat and licking slowly along the length of his shaft before flicking his tongue across the tip.

“fuck…” John was already flushed, watching Paul from under heavy eyelids.  Paul held his gaze as he took John in his mouth, moving up and down John’s cock while looking up at John through long black eyelashes. Paul had to admit, having control over John like this was amazing.

Sitting back for a moment, he ran his right hand down John’s thigh, feeling the coarse material of his trousers. He grabbed at the material bunched around John’s hips, exposing bare skin as he pushed the material down past John’s knees. John kicked his pants off, sharing a breathless laugh with Paul as he spread his legs wide, giving Paul more space. He closed his eyes and let his head sink back onto the mattress, groaning at the feeling of Paul running his hands up his inner thighs.

“Paul, please…”

“You want something, Johnny?” Paul moved close to John, letting his hot breath fall against John’s cock, watching it twitch in response.

“Don’t fucking tease me Paul”

“I wouldn’t dare, luv” Paul laughed, reaching out of cup John’s balls as he pumped John with his left hand, brushing his thumb over the tip and spreading spit and precum over John’s shaft. Taking John in his mouth again, he felt John’s stomach muscles tense, the knowledge that he was the one doing this to John driving him mad with desire. He left his right hand leave John’s skin and began clumsily palming his own erection through his boxers, humming contentedly around John’s shaft which elicited a shudder from John, his hips bucking up in response.

Paul let John fall out of his mouth, kneeling up to place gentle kisses across John’s abdomen. “Calm luv, it’s not time yet.” Paul crawled up John’s body, pulling his boxers down inelegantly and letting them fall to the floor. He pressed his naked body against John’s, kissing up John’s chest before reaching eye level with John. Paul grinned hungrily, grinding down into John, rubbing their erections against each other.

“I want you, John” Paul whispered, taking John’s lips in a needy kiss. John nodded against Paul’s lips, breaking the kiss and letting his eyes find Paul’s again.

“Need you inside me, Paulie”

“You sure-”

“yes” John said doggedly, his breath ragged. “I’m sure, luv, please…”

Paul nodded, an open mouth grin spreading across his face as he looked down at John.

“Have you got-” at that John sat up, reaching into his bedside table and handing Paul a bottle of lube. John took Paul’s face in his hands, kissing him almost chastely, as they sat on the small bed together, limbs entwined and bodies glistening with sweat. John nodded one last time, a hungry look in his eyes. “Now” he said intently.

Paul kissed him one last time before turning his attention to the small bottle, squeezing the gel out over his fingers. He pushed gently on John’s chest, encouraging him to lie back against the bed. Paul left opened mouthed kisses across John’s stomach as his hand brushed gently across John’s opening. Paul carefully pushed one finger in, causing John to shift his hips. Paul noticed John’s hands were balled into fists, his knuckles white against the bedclothes.

“relax, luv” Paul said soothingly, sucking gently on the tender skin around John stomach. He saw John nod and felt the muscles soften around him. Paul moved up John’s body, taking John’s nipple in his mouth and sucking gently as he added a second finger inside John. He curled his fingers inside John, exploring his lover’s body until he felt John take in a sharp breath, his cock twitching as it pressed lightly against Paul’s leg.

“fuck, Paul, there”

“that’s it, baby” Paul muttered, brushing against the same spot again as he added a third finger.

“I’m ready Paul, now. Shit, I need you now Paulie”. Paul smiled, removing his fingers from John and moving up to kiss him hungrily.

“I’ve got you, luv.” At that Paul squeezed a handful of lube into his palm, taking his cock in his hand and covering himself in the greasy gel. Paul felt John take a deep breath as he pressed himself against John’s opening, steadily pushing inside as John breathed out slowly. Paul reached up to kiss John again, letting his body adjust to the feeling of Paul inside him. John’s hands were grabbing hungrily at Paul’s skin, as he began to move his hips gently. The kiss broke apart, both of them focussing on the other, their breaths mixing together and falling softly against the other’s lips. Paul began to speed up and John groaned loudly in pleasure, letting his hands fall off Paul’s body in abandon. Paul felt pleasure pool in his stomach, the sight of John writhing underneath him pushing him closer to the edge. Paul took John’s hand in his own, pinning it against the bed as he leaned down to press his lips against John’s ear.

“Come on luv, come for me. Come for me Johnny” Paul whispered, taking John’s cock in his other hand and pumping it in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck, Paul…”

“Come on Johnny, I’ve got you, let go.” At that John began bucking his hips, interrupting the rhythm of Paul’s thrusts as Paul felt John’s muscles begin to spasm against his cock, pulling him further inside. With one last thrust, John exploded between them, covering both of them in the sticky white substance. Paul tried to let John ride his orgasm out, pumping him gently as he came down from his high, but before John had finished Paul felt himself fall over the edge, pushing his head down against John’s chest as he let out a strangled shout of pleasure. His breath was ragged and his limbs suddenly felt like dead weights. He let himself slide out of John and fell down on top of him, feeling John pull him closer as he wrapped his arms around the younger man.

“fuck…” Paul breathed against John’s skin, moving his head up to meet John’s gaze.

“I know, right?” John grinned lazily, his eyes heavy as he looked down at Paul. Paul shuffled up to rest his head on the pillow next to John, tangling his arms and legs around his body. Their bodies were slick and sticky but neither of them seemed to care.

“That was good, wasn’t it?” Paul spoke languidly, his gaze unfocussed as his nose pressed gently against John’s. 

“worth the fuss, I’d say”. John smiled wearily, pulling Paul against his chest as sleep took over both their bodies.

                                                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Paul was awoken by a shaft of sunlight shining through the skylight in ceiling, lighting up the room and landing on John’s bed. He blinked lazily, shielding his eyes from the light and rolling over to find John smiling gently, his eyes closed over.

“mornin’” John said, opening one eye and grinning at Paul.

“Good morning, you”. Paul ran his hand over John’s stomach, resting his chin on John’s chest. “We’re both filthy, you know. Probably should have had a shower last night”. John laughed at Paul’s words, leaning up to kiss him chastely.

“Aw, I don’t mind. Or at least I can’t be bothered to go down the hall to that cold bathroom.”

Paul pulled a face, not feeling ready to leave the warm bed and brave the cold morning yet. “I forgot you didn’t have your own bathroom.”

“Well, you get what you pay for.” They shared an affectionate laugh, a smile spread across both their faces.

“Well…” John looked into Paul’s eyes for a moment, as if considering what his next words should be. “Are you happy Paul?”

“How could I not be?” Paul smiled at John, pressing his lips against John’s chest.

“Well, you do have form for-”

“Shurrup” he said with a smile, his hand moving up to brush the hair out of John’s eyes. They laughed again, and this time Paul sat up, taking John’s hands and pulling him up into a loving kiss. “This is where I want to be, John” he said before kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I hope you enjoyed it. Come and find me on tumblr - drearymondays.tumblr.com


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